The Tomoyo Cycle
by Kit Spooner
Summary: As my third distinct portrayal of Tomoyo, the Cycle follows her from high school graduation, through love and loss. Warnings: features main-character death, very alternate pairings, as well as a little yuri. [incomplete]
1. Little Plastic Castle

**.: Tomoyo Cycle :.   
A Card Captor Sakura Fanfiction   
Part One**

  
  


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All characters portrayed here are the property of CLAMP, Kodansha, a bunch of other Japanese media companies, and a certain Canadian dubbing company that will heretofore go unnamed. I don't claim to own these characters, but the situations I put them in belong to me. I would rather this wasn't posted anywhere without my permission, so email me with questions. Don't steal. I bite.   
  
Lyrics are from Ani DiFranco's "Little Plastic Castle."   
  


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**Little Plastic Castle -- Prologue**

  
  


_In a coffee shop in a city   
Which is every coffee shop   
In every city   
On a day which is every day   
I picked up a magazine   
Which is every magazine   
And read a story then I forgot it right away   
And they say goldfish have no memory   
I guess their lives are much like mine   
The little plastic castle   
Is a surprise every time   
It's hard to say if they are happy   
But they don't seem much to mind_   
  


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[Mid-Afternoon; the Present] 

I live in the now. 

With nothing but the present, there's little to regret. 

My tea is cooling as I wait. I wasn't terribly thirsty to begin with, so I'm not all that unhappy about the inevitable chill. For the moment, I'm content to simply wait in the tea shop. 

An old man at the table next to mine is watching me out of the corner of his eye. I think he believes he's being subtle. Maybe he is. I've always had a knack of seeing through subtleties. In any event, he's eying me speculatively. Of course, I know what he's thinking. 

The man sees a young lady with the face of an imported china doll, with eyes that are far older than they should be. Perhaps he sees a girl waiting for her friends to join her for tea. Maybe the girl is waiting for her lover. He's half-right on both counts. Friends, lovers, the lines blur for me as I wait. 

So I sip my cold tea and stare out the window. 

A flash of auburn catches my eye and I nearly drop my cup. I don't allow myself to hope that it's her I glimpse through the crowd on the sidewalk. Then again, auburn could just as easily mean he's out there too, or his ghost, at least. 

Ghosts are a comfortable, familiar part of my life now. I live with a host of ghosts. Unlike most people's ghosts, mine touch me every day. 

I manage to save the cheap teacup from smashing against the floor and replace it on its saucer. The old man at the next table continues to watch me. In a fit of whimsy, I decide to oblige his curiosity. I turn my gaze to his time-worn face and smile, lips curving into the coy, half-smile that so maddens all the schoolboys. My legs stretch out beneath the table, sleek in their pantyhose sheath, tipped with Italian leather sandals. The sun catches in my hair, a living, swirling bank of curling smoke. I've always understood beauty and how it affects others. 

Then I continue to ignore the old man. I go back to waiting and trying to forget. 

Forgetting is a much more complicated process than one might imagine. It's particularly difficult when my very existence is a sort of cosmic riddle: How can the daughter avoid becoming her mother? I'm still not sure I know the answer, but I'm at least headed in the right direction. 

Still, there's no sign of my lover. Or my friend. 

Even the old man is gone now. 

"Are you waiting for someone?" 

I look up into the eager face of a thin, spike-haired boy. He looks to be about my age; he's ridiculously young. 

"Yes," I tell him as I watch him through my eyelashes. Mother always loved my eyelashes. Almost as much as she loved my hair. 

The boy's expression is tragicomic. "Oh, sorry to disturb you." 

"It's alright," I say with a smile. It's not the same smile I gave the old man; this one touches my eyes. It almost floors the poor kid. "You can join me for a little while, if you like." 

Since that's what the boy was originally aiming for, he sags with relief into the chair opposite me. "Thank you." 

I allow my eyes to linger on the smooth planes and angles of his face. He'll be handsome in a few years, with soulful brown eyes and a smattering of freckles. He'll probably break a few hearts before he settles down with a girl completely and utterly unlike myself. At least, I hope she's not like me. Poor kid. 

"So what's your name?" I ask, polite to the last. 

"Akito," he says with a hesitant smile. "Yours?" 

"Tomoyo," I murmur, watching his eyes track my glossy lips. 

"Who are you waiting for?" he asks curiously, encouraged by the exchange of pleasantries. 

"No one," I reply. 

He blinks at me, eyes like melting chocolate. "But you said you were . . ." 

"Aren't we all?" I ask blandly. "Waiting for someone, that is?" 

Akito relaxes a little and gives a little chuckle. He thinks I'm making a clever remark. "Oh, I see," he says while it's perfectly clear that he doesn't. 

"I'm also waiting for my lover," I add with another smile, this one almost sultry. I'm remembering the feel of skin on skin, of hair drifting between my fingers. I'm remembering tastes and scents and the way someone's mouth can be so exquisitely expressive against my breasts. "My lover and my friend," I elaborate. 

To my amusement, the boy's face flushes and he begins to stammer. It's as though he can tell, just by the sensual curve of my lips, that I'm imagining something sexual. 

"Never mind," I tell him. 

The waitress saunters over and takes his order, allowing him some recovery time. 

"Did you want another tea?" Akito asks me politely. He doesn't quite meet my gaze. 

"No, thank you," I reply. 

"A parfait?" He looks hopeful, like a puppy. 

"No, I'm meeting someone for dinner later," I tell him gently. 

My lover. My friend. 

The flash of auburn outside the shop turned out to be nothing and now I'm on the lookout again. Akito's eyes are deep and rich but not quite what I had in mind. There are other eyes I'm waiting to drown in. 

Then the door to the shop opens, the bell tinkles, and my head tilts back as my attention is captured. My eyes widen in spite of myself and blood rushes to my cheeks and I want to hide behind the veil of my hair. 

Akito twists in his chair and eyes the source of my blush. "Your friend and lover?" he asks, voice cracking somewhat. He looks ready to bolt and I don't blame him. 

"Yes," I say, that single word almost a song. Eyes meet, glances are exchanged, and I'm able for a brief instant to forget, not regret. That thick fringe of eyelashes are no longer needed to hide my soul. 

I don't notice when Akito leaves. 

"Yes," I whisper again. 

Lover. Friend.  
  


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	2. Pixie

.: Tomoyo Cycle :.   
A Card Captor Sakura Fanfiction   
Part Two

  
  


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All characters portrayed here are the property of CLAMP, Kodansha, a bunch of other Japanese media companies, and a certain Canadian dubbing company that will heretofore go unnamed. I don't claim to own these characters, but the situations I put them in belong to me. I would rather this wasn't posted anywhere without my permission, so email me with questions. Don't steal. I bite.   
  
Lyrics are from Ani DiFranco's "Pixie."   
  


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**Pixie**

  
  
  
  


_I'm a pixie   
I'm a paperdoll   
I'm a cartoon   
I'm a chipper cheerful free for all   
And I light up a room   
I'm the color-me-happy girl   
Miss live-and-let-live   
And when they're out for blood   
I always give_   
  


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[Mid-Afternoon; One Year Ago] 

Perhaps I'd better explain. 

I am still in high school -- nominally -- but school is such a minor part of my life that I pay little attention to it. I am at the top of my class through a quirk of genetics and a healthy dose of luck. I have been called brilliant, but I tend to disagree. 

Brilliance is a better descriptor for my Sakura. Oh, she'll never be an intellectual, but she already shines brighter than I ever will. During our childhood together, I frequently puzzled over what made Sakura so very special. It wasn't her mind or her looks, though she is certainly attractive. (Syaoran agrees with me on this one; or he would if he were close enough to do so.) It was only when she began to discover her magic that I finally understood. 

Sakura practically oozes mystical energy. She's fey and wild and intensely alive. By birth and fate, Sakura is a sorceress, a witch, a seer. She hides her magic well, but it's always there and it's always drawn me. 

By birth, I might be as much a witch as Sakura, but fate didn't agree. Despite my apparent brilliance, despite my songs and eyes and mind, I didn't inherit my mother's magic. Not a glimmer. But I am still drawn by the magic of others, which brings me back to the subject at hand. 

Sakura. 

I've loved her since I met her. I probably always will. But Clow, that meddling busybody, dead all these centuries, had different ideas. The manipulations of a long-dead sorcerer have cheated me out of true love, but I've had plenty of time to resign myself to that fact. I will never be able to have Sakura for myself. It hurts, even now, but time dulls pain and fresh wounds scab over eventually. 

So I watch her. I watch over her. I've spent most of my life protecting Sakura from hurt and pain and the uglier sides of life. But, unlike my mother, I know I can't keep her. Caged birds don't fly very well and I refuse to force Sakura to share my cage with me. So instead, I'll cushion her if she falls. I bind up her wounds and listen to her teenage anguish. But I can't share my own wounds or she'll be hurt too. I can't share my love with her for that same reason. 

Does any of this make sense? 

I try to puzzle through the logic and fairness of my situation sometimes when I'm alone. (I'm alone frequently.) I'm usually good at puzzles but this one's ridiculously complex. Sakura is an open book. So is Syaoran, or at least I assume he still is. It's been a couple of years since I've seen him and his letters to me are all ridiculously succinct. I am not an open book, however. It's something I've cultivated since childhood. Even now, as I wait in the park for Sakura, I'm keeping safe behind my smile. 

Any moment now Sakura will come tearing into sight, out of breath, hair tousled and streaming behind her. I'll be waiting here on this chilly bench. 

She's going to Tell Me Something. I have a feeling it has something to do with Syaoran. Touya let slip this morning that Sakura spent two hours on the phone with the Chinese boy last night. Sakura's brother and I are working part-time at the same bookstore and he's proving to be a prime source of gossip from the Kinomoto household. A two-hour phone conversation could mean many things for Sakura. I'm so tense with anticipation that my neck has been aching all day. 

I nibble absently at a peanut butter cookie as I wait. It's my fifth one today. If I was a normal girl, I'd be worried about my figure, worried that the calories of the cookie were drifting directly to my hips. But as we've already established, I'm not normal. I could eat a dozen of these cookies and not gain any weight. Believe me I've tried. I remain stubbornly frail. Other girls at school envy my slim figure, my translucent skin and delicate features. I don't think they realize how easily I bruise or how unlikely it is that I will ever be strong enough to bear a child. My mother has told me before how much I remind her of Kinomoto Nadesico, but I realize now that I'm probably not even as strong as she was. Sakura's mother managed to bring two children into the world before her energy was sapped utterly. I suspect I will never be so lucky. 

Then again, it's fairly useless to even ponder my future now. If there's anything I've learned from my years at Sakura's side -- watching her, filming her, loving her -- it's that you'll never guess what will happen next. 

And then, suddenly, she's here. There's a huge smile plastered across her face and her glorious green eyes are alight. I recognize her expression. Whatever she's going to tell me will have something to do with Syaoran. I'm sure of it. 

"Guess who I talked to last night?" she asks me as she comes to a halt in front of my bench, skidding on the loose gravel. 

"Li-kun?" I hazard a guess. 

Sakura blushes. She's adorable when she blushes. "Oniichan told you, didn't he?" 

All at once, I regret spoiling her surprise. "Yes," I admit. "But he only said that you'd talked for two hours last night on the phone." 

Sakura's smile shines as she plops down on the bench next to me. "Well, Syaoran-kun talked to his mother," she announces, obviously pleased with herself. 

The tension in my neck increases, shooting bright sparks of pain along my spine. "That's nice," I say. "What did he talk to her about?" 

"The Clow Cards." All at once, Sakura's expression is grave. "Li-sama has finally recognized me as the Clow Mistress." There's a catch in her voice that I think I understand. 

"That's new," I comment gently, attempting to steer Sakura toward the reason for her excitement. "Does that mean that Li-kun is officially no longer your 'rival?'" That would certainly be sufficient cause for celebration. The matriarch of the Li clan is nothing if not careful about her decisions. She's been angling to somehow take the Cards from Sakura ever since she captured them all, seven years ago. 

"He's no longer my rival," Sakura confirmed, "But Li-sama has decided that she still wants the Cards under the jurisdiction of the Li clan. That's what Syaoran-kun talked to me about last night." 

For a moment, I'm completely baffled. Then realization comes upon my like false dawn over the ocean. And it hurts a little. Just a little more pain to add to my stockpile. "Congratulations, Sakura-chan," I say, my smile gentle and my eyes misty with vicarious joy. "When will the blessed even take place? You are still in high school, in case Li-kun and his mother forgot . . ." 

Sakura's face is scarlet. "Oh, no, Tomoyo-chan," she says quickly. "We're not getting . . . married or anything. Li-sama has offered to complete my training with the Cards on the condition that I am adopted into the clan. I'm going to go live with her and Syaoran-kun in Hong Kong for a while after graduation." 

As usual, I don't allow my face to display my emotions. Perhaps I pale a little, but my smile remains firmly in place. "That's wonderful," I announce. Perhaps Sakura doesn't view the arrangement as a prelude to marriage, but it's clear that the Li matriarch has set it up as such. Marriage is the only was to bring the Cards into her family without action that would alienate her son. Syaoran probably understands this as well. I'm sure he'll explain it to Sakura. Eventually. 

Sakura continues to prattle on about how exciting it will be to go to Hong Kong again, how much she misses Syaoran-kun, how she can't wait until graduation. I don't think she notices the distant look in my eyes as I slowly realize what such an announcement means to me, to Daidouji Tomoyo. Already I can feel the great gaping hollow she'll leave inside me. 

Our time together in the park passes in a haze. My muscles are stiff, from my neck on down, and my face is starting to ache from my fixed smile. Sakura is too busy enthusing to notice such minor facets of behavior. Finally I remind Sakura that she has a paper due tomorrow and she's barely begun the research. With a yelp, she remembers. 

"I've got to run, Tomoyo-chan," she says, flinging her arms around my neck. 

For a brief, bittersweet moment, I can pretend. 

"I'm going to miss you so much when I go to Hong Kong," she murmurs, her breath stirring the wisps of hair that escape from my braids. "Without you, how will I remember to turn in term papers?" 

We both laugh like children, then go our separate ways. 

I detour through the park, making two complete circuits before heading for home. By the time I slip in through the front door, my mother has begun to get worried. I'm not sure what she has to worry about. What sort of idiotic thug would bother the daughter of Daidouji Sonomi? I think even the criminal element of Tomoeda is aware of my untouchable status. Besides, the self-defense classes that my mother enrolled me in a few years back are probably enough to get me out of any significant trouble. 

"Where on earth were you, Tomoyo-chan?" My mother is still an attractive woman despite the scowl that mars her features. 

"Sakura-chan and I were at the park," I tell her. "I'm sorry I forgot to call and say where I was going." 

"Ah," she says quietly. "Your dinner's in the kitchen." 

I nod and silently retreat to my waiting dinner, interrupting a tentative attempt by my mother to engage me in conversation. Mother and I don't talk much and that's the way I prefer it. It's not hard to avoid her, actually. Our house is ridiculously oversized for the two of us, particularly since I spend most of my time at home doing school work in my room. 

Mother looks in on me around nine. I'm in my room, working studiously on an essay for my literature class. 

"I'm fine, Mother," I tell her with a smile. It's as close as I can get to a genuine smile. Sometimes I think I haven't really smiled in a decade. 

"Are you sure, Tomoyo?" she asks again, worry catching faintly in her voice. "You've been looking a bit . . . out of sorts for the past two days . . . ." 

I can tell that "out of sorts" wasn't the first descriptor she had in mind. I would guess that "haggard" might fit better, or perhaps "hollow and gaunt." I make an effort of project reassurance. "I'm just tired," I say. And it's true. I'm at the end of my resources. The whole complicated situation with Sakura is getting a little too exhausting when added to exams for school and this ridiculous part-time job that I took on. Even Touya commented on my pallor at work this morning. Touya's observant, but he tends to keep his comments to himself. 

My mother strides out of the shelter of my doorway and fully into my room. No matter how domestic and motherly she tries to act at times, she still strides like the CEO of her corporation. "You're more than tired," she corrected me gently. "You take on too much work, Tomoyo-chan. Is there anything you can drop?" 

I shake my head briskly. "Student council needs me to chair the graduation committee," I begin, ticking points off on my fingers. "The choir director has been begging and pleading to have me sing the solo for the spring concert. Exams are coming up and I've already agreed to help the tutoring program after school. I can't quit work or I'll get a bad reference and won't find work later. And Sakura's in the middle of something very complicated with Li-kun right now." I've been through the list in my head before but it's daunting to actually recite it out loud. 

"What on earth were you thinking by taking on all that work?" My mother's face is a mask of horrified fascination. It's as though she can't quite figure out how she gave birth to such a frenetic overachiever as myself. She settles gingerly on my bed next to me. "Tomoyo, I understand having obligations, but why don't you let Sakura work her own problems out this time?" 

For a moment, I have absolutely no idea what she's talking about. Sakura's problems are my problems. It would be like ignoring a sore tooth in hopes that someone else would take care of it. 

My bafflement must be obvious because my mother suddenly smiles at me. "Sakura's a big girl now," she reminds me gently. "Doesn't she deserve to have a private life?" 

Then, in a sudden flush of crimson, I'm furious. "You don't have any idea what you're talking about, Mother," I say, my voice startlingly harsh to my own ears. I hope I'm not developing a cold or something. 

"Oh, Tomoyo," my mother sighs. I can tell she's working hard to remain sympathetic. It's difficult for her, though. She and I have never been terribly close. "You can't keep this up! No one could!" Particularly not a high-school student with a delicate constitution like yours, she doesn't say. She doesn't have to. 

"Mother." My voice is sharp and cold. Is this the only way? "Sakura is my best friend and she needs my support. End of conversation. Would you have abandoned Nadesico in such a situation, mother?" 

She recoils as though slapped and I'm instantly contrite. I never mean to hurt her. It just happens. "I see," she says, her voice low and utterly flat. She rises stiffly from my bed and smooths her skirt. "Finish your homework and get some sleep, Tomoyo. I'll see you in the morning." And then she's gone. 

I stare for a moment at the door she closed behind her. There's a life-sized poster of Sakura in one of my costumes on the back. Her green eyes glitter back at me and her teeth are very white in the dim light of my bedroom. Then, without warning, I burst into tears. My exhaustion must really be getting to me if I'm suddenly crying for no reason. 

I abandon my literature essay in favor of wasting a little time online. These brief email checks are what keeps me sane during these long nights of studying, planning, writing, and thinking. I begin to sift through the new messages in my box. First, I delete the obvious spam. Mother buys me the top of the line in spam-avoidance software, but the advertisers are too canny to be stopped by software for very long. As a result, a slew of junk emails have made it through the spam filters. Advertisements for credit cards, pornography, electronics, and work-at-home opportunities are quickly deposited in the trash can. 

Then I notice an email from an unknown sender. The virus software isn't triggered when I open the email so I read the first line. 

It's from Syaoran's mother. 

I briefly wonder how on earth she found out what my email address was. Then I move on to the meat of the note. 

There was an accident, she writes. A car accident. The car that Wei, Syaoran, and Meiling were in was hit by a drunk driver on one of the back-roads near the Li compound this afternoon. Wei and the other driver were killed instantly. Meiling is in the hospital and it looks like she's going to pull through. When the paramedics pulled Syaoran from the wreckage, he was alive but hemorrhaging severely. By the time they got him to the hospital . . . 

Syaoran is dead. 

The Li matriarch is going to call Sakura herself this evening, probably already has. Li wanted to drop me a quick note so that I can be there to help Sakura. For a moment, I marvel that despite the loss of her only son, Li is able to think about the mental well-being of the girl who stole the Cards from her family, the girl who would have been her daughter-in-law in a few years. 

But I can't think about that right now. I need to get to Sakura. 

I briefly contemplate calling the Kinomoto house first, but then I realize that there would be no real use in it. If Sakura hadn't heard the news from Li yet, then what would I do? Instead I bolt from the sanctuary of my room. I call out some sort of excuse to my mother as I dash down the stairs at top speed. She pokes her head out of her study to ask me what on earth I'm rushing for. But I don't have time to stop. 

The front door slams behind me. 

Sakura's house is only a few blocks from mine, but it seems like forever. I'm not used to running, particularly not on uneven sidewalk in the stylish sandals that I slipped on at home. I'll have to remember not to run in platform sandals in the future. 

By the time I skid around the corner and up to the front gate of the Kinomoto house, I can barely breathe. My face is so hot that I'm sure it's beet red. Beet red is not one of my better colors, particularly not when paired with my wheezing gasps of breath. I pound on the door. 

I wait almost a minute before knocking again. This time, I keep up a steady stream of noise. When my knuckles get sore, I start kicking. There's an irate shout from inside and then the door is torn open. 

"What do you wa -- Tomoyo?!" Touya's paler than I've ever seen him and his hair is more rumpled than usual. I can tell from the hollow shock in his eyes that he's heard the news. "Come in," he says before turning and heading up the stairs toward Sakura's room. 

I realize, as I close the door behind me and follow Touya, that he's older than I remember. I think I've always envisioned Touya as Sakura's big brother, still in high school. But he's not seventeen anymore; I am. He's twenty-three and worry has stooped Sakura's tall, broad-shouldered brother. I wonder what else I haven't noticed recently. 

Yukito is huddled on the floor outside Sakura's closed door. He appears to be murmuring something in a soothing voice to the doorknob. 

"Any luck?" Touya asks sharply. 

Yukito shakes his head. "The door's still locked." 

Touya bangs his fist against the door hard enough to rattle the lock mechanism. "Open the door, Sakura!" His voice breaks when he says her name. 

I barely hear Sakura's quiet, determined, "No, oniichan." 

"Let me try," I murmur to Touya, laying my hand on his arm. 

He glances at me in surprise, as though he'd already forgotten that he'd just let me in. "If you think you can . . ." 

I manage a smile. "Why don't you stay out here with Tsukishiro-san?" I suggest firmly. 

Touya's frown deepens and he glances down at Yukito. 

"Actually, why don't we go downstairs and make some warm milk and honey for Sakura-chan, To-ya?" Yukito's tone is gentle, but he brooks no opposition. 

Touya is obviously defeated as he trails forlornly after Yukito. 

I smother my smile and turn back to Sakura's door. "Sakura-chan? It's me." 

Silence. 

"If you don't open the door then I'll have to pick the lock," I say conversationally. "And I'm still not very good at it. I might end up breaking the lock if I try." 

More silence. 

"Sakura," I repeat, a little louder. "I've sent your brother and Tsukishiro-san downstairs, but if you don't open this door right now, I might just call them back up here . . ." 

I can hear movement from inside her room: the rustle of her bedspread and her staggering footfalls on the carpet. Then the door unlocks. 

By the time I get inside and lock the door again behind me, she's huddled back on her bed. 

"Sakura-chan?" Now that I'm here with her, I'm not really sure how to proceed. 

"He's dead, Tomoyo-chan." Her voice is muffled against her pillow so much that she's almost unintelligible. 

I settle on the bed next to her shuddering form and lay a hand on her back. "I know," I murmur brokenly. "I already know." 

Sakura's wail is that of a wild animal. It's an inhuman expression of complete and utter loss. Again, I feel completely at a loss. I've never lost a friend or family-member. Until now. Sakura continues to sob beneath her bedspread. 

And suddenly I realize that I'm crying as well; not the convulsions of grief that rock my best friend, but the silent, inexorable tears that come so easily to me. But I have to be strong now. Sakura needs me, not my tears. 

I pull back the bedspread enough to reveal the back of Sakura's head. Her hair is tangled and tear-damp. I smooth her hair down with pale, shaking fingers. Sakura's sobs are choked now and I have to remind her: "Breathe, Sakura-chan," I tell her. "You have to keep breathing for me and your family." 

Sakura take a great, gasping breath, then shudders and returns to crying. 

I'm suddenly terribly aware of her pain. I've always been inconveniently empathic, and now that skill is reaching out and drawing all of Sakura's hurt and loss into myself. I understand exactly how she feels and why she just wants to disappear and how she can't imagine what she'll do now and oh, how she wishes everything would just go away. 

And it hurts. Oh, how much it hurts! 

The pain is almost enough to knock me off the bed and flat against the floor. Instead, I curl up behind Sakura on her bed. She's slightly shorter than I am and her back fits perfectly against my chest and belly, spoon-fashion. We used to sleep in the same bed when we were little girls, when one of us spent the night at the other's house. She's even warmer than I remembered. 

I'm cold, so very, very cold. As soon as Sakura's pain came upon me, my fingers and toes began to grow numb with cold. I'm shaking, but so is Sakura so she doesn't notice. I detached portion of my mind notes that I'm probably going into shock. 

So I just hold her. That's all. With my arms wrapped around her shaking body, I try to comfort her in the only way I know how. She doesn't need platitudes right now. The anguish of Li's loss will grow less painful in time, but it would be cruel and pointless to tell her that. Instead, I just share my heart with her. It's all I can do. It's all I've ever really been able to do for her. 

Some time later, I realize that Sakura's fallen asleep. She's still shaking a little, but her breathing is deep and regular and the tears on her face are beginning to dry. My own tears are still falling, slowly and steadily. I'm not sure how to stop them, or even if I should. Is this a side-effect of sharing my Sakura's pain? 

I draw her closer, my palm against her sternum, my breasts against her shoulder blades. She's so warm, her body curled alongside mine. And as she sleeps, I continue to mourn for her. 

And for myself.   
  


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_Yeah, I would like to perfect the art   
Of being studiously aloof   
Like life is just a boring chore   
And I am living proof   
I could join forces with an army   
Of ornery hipsters   
But then I guess I'd be out of a job   
So I guess that's out of the picture_  
  


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	3. Two Little Girls

**.: Tomoyo Cycle :.   
A Card Captor Sakura Fanfiction   
Part Three**

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All characters portrayed here are the property of CLAMP, Kodansha, a bunch of other Japanese media companies, and a certain Canadian dubbing company that will heretofore go unnamed. I don't claim to own these characters, but the situations I put them in belong to me. I would rather this wasn't posted anywhere without my permission, so email me with questions. Don't steal. I bite. (Oh! And Ani DiFranco owns the song, "Two Little Girls," and while I stole it shamelessly and completely without permission, I'm not claiming it as my own. Bah!)   
  


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**Two Little Girls**

  
  
  
  


_You were fresh off the boat from Virginia_   
_I had a year in New York City under my belt_   
_We met in a dream_   
_We were both 19_   
_I remember where we were standing_   
_I remember how it felt_   
_Two little girls growing out of their training bras_   
_This little girl breaks furniture, this little girl breaks laws_   
_Two girls together_   
_Just a little less alone_   
_This little girl cries wee wee_   
_All the way home_   
  


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[Noon; Ten Months Ago] 

I've always thought that steam is just safe smoke, but I'm not sure that's really the case. Sure, they look similar, all misty and amorphous, but steam billows in a way that most smoke just can't quite manage. _Cigarette_ smoke is something else entirely. 

Cigarette smoke is sharp, like a mostly-insubstantial razor. It cuts through the steam billowing up from my hot spring. Of course, if I'd ever learned the trick of blowing smoke-rings I might be able to manage softer exhalations. 

When did I start smoking, you wonder? 

A week after Syaoran died. I'd . . . rather not talk about it. 

I tap ash off onto the rock next to me then lean back into the stone-lined bath. There's really something almost sinful about near-scalding water and abrasive rocks against one's bare back and buttocks. I'm sure Sakura would agree with me if she was around. 

Actually, now that I think about it, I'm not really sure where she's gone off to. I should probably go look for her to make sure she's not trying to kill herself again. She's already tried a couple times. If she makes a third attempt, I may just have to strangle her myself. Or at least I'd have to give her a very stern talking-to, once I'd finished with the inevitable panic attack brought on by her misery. Yes, it's definitely time to go check on Sakura-chan. 

I hoist myself from the _onsen_, gasping at the chill of the air. Goosebumps rise on my bare flesh like some sort of virulent skin disease and the tender flesh of my breasts and belly prickle at the thought. The resort we're staying at is high enough in the mountains that even though it's summer, it's still pretty nippy. My mother recommended this place to Sakura and I. Actually, she bought us the whole trip as a graduation present. It was an unusual choice for a pair of high-school graduates, but my mother has always had good instincts about this sort of thing. 

It took several days to actually convince Sakura to come with me to the resort. She had still been functioning at a merely marginal level after Syaoran's death. She managed to graduate, though it was due more to my considerable pull at school than to any effort of her own. But she finally agreed to come with me to the mountains. I think it was the promise of quiet and solitude that finally convinced her. Or perhaps she thought there would be more opportunities to steal razor blades or bottles of over-the-counter sleep medication. 

Wrapping a _yukata_ around myself, I pad off down the flagstone path to the main lodge, my hair dripping chilly water down the back of my neck. 

I knew I shouldn't have gotten my hair wet. 

As it turns out, Sakura isn't in our room. The room is as impersonally immaculate as when I left it this morning. She isn't loitering around the kitchenette, nor is she in the bathroom trying to slit her wrists again. I mutter a quick prayer of gratitude for small blessings. 

I finally end up asking the hawk-nosed concierge if he's seen my roommate and vacation partner. He gives me a slightly supercilious stare, taking in my bare feet, dripping hair, and shivering shoulders, then suggests I head out to the _dojo_. 

I decide to ignore the man's stares and thank him politely. 

His eyes are glued to the swing of my hips as I leave. 

Idiot. 

Sakura is, indeed, in the _dojo_. She's seated by the open _shoji_ in a nest of scattered sunbeams, arms wrapped around her knees. Her gaze is fixed on the agile maneuvering of two young men in _gi_'s who are sparring with swords. I really don't know much about martial arts, but even I can tell they're very good. The blades are whistling through the air as they dodge and weave, dancing back and forth across the wooden floor. The rush of their breaths and the swish of the blades are the only sounds. 

They're beautiful in an effortlessly masculine way, muscles bunching and stretching beneath fine cotton. 

Belatedly I realize that they're fighting with Chinese-style swords; tai chi swords, I think. 

The man on the left looks a little like Syaoran, particularly when the sword dance brings him into the sunlight, which glints gold against his unruly hair. He's a bit taller than Syaoran is. Was. 

I sigh and settle down next to Sakura. She shows no sign of noticing me, so intent upon the sparring is she. To my surprise, when I follow the line of her gaze, I realize she's watching the man on the right, the tall, thin one with red-shot black hair. 

"The other guy looks more like him," I note calmly, reaching out to clasp her hand her hand in mine. Her fingers twitch in response. Her face is expressionless. 

Sakura absently strokes her thumb against my palm; I don't think she even realizes that she's doing it. "Yeah, but the dark-haired one _moves_ like him." 

"Why are you watching them?" I ask suddenly, my heart in my voice. _Why bring more pain upon yourself?_

"They're very good, you know," Sakura comments quietly. "Almost as good as Syaoran was." Her voice has that unnaturally steady, wooden quality that I associate with suppressed emotions. "Syaoran was a bit quicker on his feet, though. More imaginative too." 

"You don't need to put yourself through this, Sakura-chan." I slide closer and slip my arm around her shoulders. She leans back against my body. For a moment, I'm horrified; her shoulders are shaking against my arm. "You shouldn't torture yourself like this." Once more, I find myself hurting for her. And I realize that it's not Sakura who's shaking; it's me. 

"When I watch them," Sakura continues, "It's like I can pretend, for just a moment, that he's still here with me." 

The man with the gold-brown hair steps once more into the sunlight and I have to avert my eyes. I miss Syaoran too, though not quite the same way Sakura does. 

"You're still hurting," I note. My voice quavers a little. Her pain is almost tangible. 

Sakura stiffens and pulls away from me just enough to look me straight in the eyes. "Stop that, Tomoyo-chan," she says sternly, her mouth fixed in a disapproving frown. 

"What are you talking about?" Once again, she has me confused. 

"Stop trying to mourn for me," she explains. "It doesn't work." 

"I'm not . . ." _I'm just trying to help you, Sakura-chan._

"Yes, you are!" Her voice has risen to a strangled little shriek and the fencers have noticed us. I blush. 

Sakura looks startled by her outburst. Then her eyes fill with tears and she staggers to her feet. "I . . . think I need to lie down for a while." Then she runs back toward the main building. 

The two young men with the swords are staring at me now. I'm not sure whether it's because of the scene Sakura and I were making or whether it's because I'm still wearing only a damp _yukata_. I pause to give them an apologetic smile. Then I go after Sakura. 

By the time I catch up with her, she's made it back to the room we share. Mother spared no expense when planning our vacation. She even managed to reserve the 'honeymoon suite' for Sakura and myself. I didn't think I could explain it without blushing, so I didn't tell Sakura about it. But the room was beautifully decorated, an intriguing mixture of classic and modern decor. Sakura doesn't seem to care at the moment; she's face-down on her futon. 

For a brief instant, it looks like she isn't breathing and I panic. 

"Sakura?!" 

Then she stirs and rolls over enough to peer at me out of one eye, her hair a tumbled mess around her face. "I'm fine, Tomoyo-chan," she mumbles. "I just need a little rest. That's all." 

"That's bullshit," I tell her bluntly. 

I don't think Sakura's ever heard me use profanity and she's startled into sitting upright and staring at me. 

"You're more than tired, Sakura-chan," I continue calmly. "You're grieving. And for your information, I can't _help_ but mourn with you. Not only was Li-kun my friend, but you're my _best_ friend and seeing you in pain hurts more than anything else I can imagine." 

Sakura frowns and sits up. "So you brought me all the way out to the mountains just to let me grieve?" 

"Actually, my mother planned all of this," I correct her gently. "I already told you that . . ." 

"No, wait," Sakura interrupts, gesturing sharply with her hand. "That's not the point. What about _you_?" 

"What _about_ me?" I wince inwardly. Sakura's moving toward an uncomfortable topic. I hope she doesn't pursue this one . . . 

"What about _your_ mourning, Tomoyo-chan?" Sakura looks angry now and I'm not sure why. "Why do you always think of me first, and then yourself last?" 

Perhaps I should note that this is the most energy I've seen from Sakura in weeks. I'm not sure which is worse: her horrible lethargy or this sudden, inexplicable fury aimed toward myself. 

"You're my best friend, Sakura-chan," I begin carefully. She can tell I'm improvising, edging around something I _really_ don't want to discuss now. "I care about you. I want to make sure you're alright. I thought that this trip would be a good way to give you time to grieve. If you want to go back we can . . ." 

"You're changing the subject!" she accuses as she rises from her futon. She stomps toward me. 

I take an inadvertent step backward. I've never seen Sakura like this and I'm almost afraid of what's going to happen. It's obvious that she's been thinking about this for a while now. It makes me wonder what other, more dangerous things she's been contemplating. 

"Well?" Sakura prompts. She steps closer. I step back. "Why do you always think of me before yourself, Tomoyo-chan? I want to know!" 

I take a final step backward and find myself trapped by the _shouji_. Damn. Just my luck. So I temporize. "Sakura-chan . . . it's very complicated . . ." 

"We've got time," she tells me, eyes narrowing. "Start talking." 

Sakura is more perceptive than most people give her credit for. Even _I_ tend to underestimate her at times. This appears to be one of those times. My hands spasm against the paper of the _shouji_ behind me. Somehow, she's managed to turn the tables on me. Instead of forcing her to deal with her grief, I'm being forced to deal with something else entirely. 

She reaches out a hand and touches my cheek. It takes all of my failing willpower not to flinch as searing warmth spreads from the tips of her fingers across my face.. "I love you," she says quietly, seriously, her anger sliding smoothly into something even more confusing. "You know I always have." 

Yes, this is something else entirely. 

And suddenly she's kissing me with a sort of clumsy intensity, her teeth clicking against mine in her rush. My nostrils flare as I desperately try to regain my breath and my balance. These aren't the chaste kisses of our childhood. She's kissing me the way I've seen her kiss Syaoran, with an almost spiritual fury. 

"You don't always have to be the healer, Tomoyo-chan," she tells me between kisses. Her hands are now tangled in my damp hair, holding my head still and imprisoned. "Let someone else feel pain, for once." 

"No," is all I can quickly gasp out. "No." This isn't what I wanted, never what I wanted. Sakura hasn't merely overstepped the careful boundaries I'd laid out, she's removing the boundaries completely, totally. She can't possibly understand what she's doing . . . 

Sakura's hands are cold, her fingers nimble as she carefully tugs my _obi_ loose. My _yukata_ falls open, the chilly air spiking along bare skin. "Hush, Tomoyo," she murmurs against my throat. "Just let me love you." Her voice is pleading now and my resistence is flagging. "We both need this." 

I know nothing about need, but Sakura's touch is something I've always wanted, desperately and without exception. Between her soothing admonitions, her lips soft against my collarbone, and her hands sliding up along my ribcage, it's becoming difficult to continue rejecting her. As her palms feather across my breasts, she realizes how very close I am to breaking and she stops. 

"Tomoyo?" Her voice holds a hint of worry. "Tomoyo, look at me please . . ." 

I hadn't realized that my eyes were closed so it's a shock to open them and realize that Sakura's cheeks are wet with tears. 

"Just let this happen, Tomoyo," she continues, her green eyes dull with lingering grief. "It's a physical comfort we can give each other. Just let it be." 

So, with a sigh that shakes my whole body, I kiss her back. Even as I'm figuring out how to unobtrusively slip her _yukata _off, I marvel at how distressingly skillful she seems at this sort of physicality. Once her nervousness wears off, her lips are clever against mine, smooth and supple as they trace down toward my neck and breasts. In fact, I barely get her _yukata_ off in time for her to push me gently down onto the _futon_. 

I am soon thanking all the gods that might be listening that we have our window shaded. Sakura's hands drift lower, sliding down across my moon-pale belly, the still lower to nestle between my thighs. My usually iron composure buckles under her persistent ministrations and it takes me a while before I'm able to reciprocate. With the edge of my hunger faded, I turn my attentions to repaying this gift she's given me. 

Before long I begin to realize that it's not mere physical warmth that we're sharing on a single _futon_ in a mountain resort. With each caress, my senses sharpen. Each kiss sends my consciousness flying in broad arcs, like a fisherman's net thrown into the rising tide. I have no experience with either sex or magic, but I know enough to understand that something extraordinary is happening. Much as I shared Sakura's agony and grief on the night that Syaoran died, I can now feel every sensation of my hands against her skin, every flexing of muscle and sinew along her body. I'm almost painfully aware of the rise and fall of her gentle, fluttering climaxes. 

Like a silvery web, strong and fine as silk, the plane of my mind expands, touching other lives as I pass by. Sakura still dominates, but I'm now aware of the other guests at the resort, moving complacently through their assorted leisure activities. Ancient conifers are like steel girders, forming the underpinnings of the gently pulsing life in the surrounding forests. The sky is bright over my head, the stones warm and alive beneath my feet and Sakura is . . . 

. . . Suddenly still, her body arched next to mine, sweat cooling along the length of her torso and legs. She's staring at me, her expression a mixture of fear and wonder. 

"What are you doing?" she asks me in a soft whisper that reminds me how young she really is. We are both only eighteen. 

"I . . . don't know," I admit in a rush. "Something's happening to me." Despite the loss of the glorious freedom that Sakura's body offered me, I can still feel the tendrils of power reaching out to me from the surrounding forest. Power continues to pulse up through the floor, curling deep in my abdomen like an unborn child -- content, for now, to simply wait. 

"I felt a flash of something," Sakura says, eyes wide as she stares at me. "It wasn't magic. I'd recognize that." 

"What is it?!" I'm not the magical one. I'm the supportive best friend. I'm not designed to deal with this sort of metaphysical nonsense. It's been a long, long time since I've been truly frightened. 

"It reminds me a little of the power Oniichan used to have," Sakura muses. She nibbles on the inside of her cheek as she thinks. 

"That doesn't answer my question, Sakura-chan," I whisper, my hands instinctively moving to rest across my stomach, where the skin is still abnormally warm and my muscles are trembling ever so slightly. I feel as though I'm hovering somewhere between euphoria and vertigo. 

"Does it hurt?" Sakura's expression shifts from fascination to worry. 

"No . . ." It actually feels rather . . . comfortable. But I don't think I can tell Sakura that. "I should probably go talk to your brother once we get home," I decide. "Maybe he'll have an idea what's happening. Or maybe Yue will." I need to tell someone about this . . . heat. Someone, anyone, other than Sakura. 

Sakura brightens at my suggestion. It's obvious that she wants this dealt with. Sakura dislikes problems that cannot be solved or explained. "That's a great idea, Tomoyo-chan!" A relieved smile blossoms across her face, the first I've seen in a long time. Something seems to have changed in her. I would like to think that it is due to me, or perhaps a mind-blowing sexual experience, but I somehow doubt it. 

I sigh and twist over to lie on my back, thoughts looping back upon themselves with dizzying frequency. Now that I'm no longer entwined with Sakura, I'm beginning to get cold. Despite her frequent insistence that she isn't telepathic, Sakura somehow senses my chill, pulls the blanket up to cover the both of us and snuggles in next to me, arms wrapped around my waist. We're quiet for a few minutes, each lost in our own separate thoughts. 

"Are you upset that I seduced you?" Sakura asks plaintively after a while, nuzzling her chin against my shoulder. I realize, as I never have before, just how pale I am. Against my ivory shin, flushed only slightly from our exertions, Sakura seems almost golden-brown, a smattering of freckles accenting her vitality. 

"Of course not," I tell her. And it's the truth. Something has changed between the two of us, something terribly profound, but it's not necessarily a bad thing. "And you?" I hold my breath, ready for the worst. What on earth possessed me to sleep with her? There's absolutely no _way_ our friendship will ever survive this. What will I do without Sakura in my life? 

"You're still my best friend," Sakura replies easily, burying her head in my thick hair. "And I still love you as I always have." Sakura is stronger than she and I ever give her credit for. She was strong enough to conquer Clow's ill-planned legacy, strong enough to beat Eriol at his own silly games. I have a feeling she'll be able to overcome her grief as well. 

"And I still love you too, Sakura-chan," I agree, with a sigh of relief. And I truly do. Though perhaps I don't love her the way _I_ always have . . . 

That thought settles deep in my mind now, as Sakura falls asleep in my arms. Despite the fact that I am now holding, to my bare breasts, the one person I have yearned for since my earliest memories, something seems off-kilter. Somehow, this moment isn't the joyous triumph that I was half-expecting. Could I be so selfish that now not even Sakura is enough to whet my need? Or is there something much more complicated going on. 

At the moment, I can't quite bring myself to ponder the matter. No matter what puzzles this incident has produced, I am physically sated . . . and exhausted. Events have been set in motion and I'm afraid to see where they'll take me to. Or who they'll take me from.   
  
  
  
  
  


_You were always half crazy, now look at you baby_   
_Make about as much sense as a nursery rhyme_   
_Love is a piano dropped out a four story window_   
_And you were in the wrong place at the wrong time_   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Coming Next -- Fuel**   
  


**Tomoyo must decide how badly she wants the truth. Bonds will be broken and new ones forged. In the end, who is more important: Sakura or Tomoyo, herself? And finally, Tomoyo is forced to seek aid from a very unlikely -- and decidedly ambivalent -- source.**   
  


____________________________

  
  


_And they say that alcoholics are always alcoholics_   
_Even when they're as dry as my lips for years _   
_Even when they're stranded on a small desert island_   
_With no place in 2,000 miles to buy beer_   
_And I wonder_   
_Is he different?_   
_Is he different?_   
_Has he changed? What he's about?..._   
_Or is he just a liar with nothing to lie about?_   
  


____________________________

  



	4. Fuel

**.: Tomoyo Cycle :.   
A Card Captor Sakura Fanfiction   
Part Four**

____________________________

  


All characters portrayed here are the property of CLAMP, Kodansha, a bunch of other Japanese media companies, and a certain Canadian dubbing company that will heretofore go unnamed. I don't claim to own these characters, but the situations I put them in belong to me. I would rather this wasn't posted anywhere without my permission, so email me with questions. Don't steal. I bite.

____________________________

**Fuel**

  


_And they say that alcoholics are always alcoholics   
Even when they're as dry as my lips for years   
Even when they're stranded on a small desert island   
With no place in 2,000 miles to buy beer   
And I wonder   
Is he different?   
Is he different?   
Has he changed? What he's about?...   
Or is he just a liar with nothing to lie about?_

____________________________

[Daylight; Ten Months Ago]

  


The ride home is understandably awkward. Sakura sits in one corner of the back of my mother's limousine and I sit in the other. She is talking, chattering, and has been for the past hour. I'm beginning to wonder if she would quiet down if I bludgeoned the back of her head with the small, stone statue that she bought from the onsen's gift shop.

And it's a testament to my own unbalanced state that I would even consider such a thing.

So instead of resorting to violence, I just continue to stare out the window and completely ignore Sakura. It's very difficult, actually. Before there was a sort of continuous _pull_ that she exerted on me, as though she had inadvertently snagged several fishing lines, complete with tiny barbed hooks, into various portions of my anatomy. It was painful when I thought about it, but mostly it was a familiar sort of drawing feeling that more a comfort than a nuisance.

But now . . .

I glance over at her; she's still recounting some of her brother's more moronic exploits from their youth, her face animate, eyes bright. And the usual _pull_ is now tempered by a sharp and sudden pang of purely physical desire, made worse by my new preternatural awareness of the world around me. Now I can not only lose myself in the mere _sight _of the girl I love, but I can smell her, hear her heartbeat, feel the way her aura pulses brightly against my own subdued one.

And I'm forced to close my eyes to shut out the sensations that intrude without invitation, but it doesn't really help. My eyelids really don't help all that much when I'm still shaking with the aftereffects of whatever happened back in our room at the onsen.

Was this what Sakura's brother had to live with back before he gave his power to Yue?

Because from all the descriptions Sakura's been bombarding me with for the past day or so, it really sounds like my experiences most closely resemble Touya's old power. Or so Sakura says.

Not that she's exactly an expert, of course. She's tremendously powerful, but her power is unique and her experiences don't help me at all here. Even her observations of Syaoran's magic, though she doesn't mention them now, are of no use. So it looks as though I'll have to look up her brother once we get back to Tomoeda.

But good god, what am I going to tell him?

_Oh, when I was having sex with your baby sister something really strange happened between orgasms . . ._

Or maybe, _Yes, Touya-san, the vacation at the onsen was nice but while I was taking advantage of your darling sister's grief, I realized that I was being distracted by a bunch of pretty, almost hallucinatory colors . . ._

No, there really isn't any way I can tell Touya about what really happened up in the mountains. The best I can do is hope he has some sort of quick fix for my problem.

I glance back from my vacant contemplation of the rushing scenery to check on Sakura. She's still babbling about her brother, I think. It's hard to tell because she's beginning to run out of energy and even her momentum isn't enough to make her words terribly intelligible anymore.

". . . And I _told_ him that I wasn't a damn monster!" she snaps vaguely in my direction.

Yes, she's most certainly still discussing Touya.

So I nod mechanically and allow her rambling to lull me into an uneasy, dreamless sleep.

____________________________

Of course, I'm finding that the opportunity to chat up Sakura's brother is a little more elusive than I'd previously expected. Upon our arrival back home, Sakura promptly forgot about my little mystical experience and instead chose to concentrate on the embarrassment of having slept with her same-sex best friend.

I decided to give her some space, both for her awkwardness and for her grief, which was still a tangible shadow over her aura. It's easier to avoid her now that school's over, but it makes it very difficult to casually contact Touya. He and Yukito live in an apartment complex a few miles away from the Kinomoto home, but they still spend a goodly amount of time with Sakura and her father. I don't feel comfortable invading his apartment in search of him and I'm certainly not going to make Sakura uncomfortable by seeking him at the Kinomoto residence.

So I set about trying to enjoy what's left of my post-graduation vacation. I'm not scheduled to return to work at the bookstore for another four days and I find myself spending an inordinate amount of time in the park. Summer is well under way in Tomoeda now. All of the fruit trees have finished blooming, as have most of the annual spring bulbs. The grassy spaces are once more green and verdant and should remain so until the dry times of late summer arrive. Children on break from school seem to populate the park, though they are clever enough to leave the brooding, dark-haired girl alone in her nest of shadows beneath a large, vastly-spreading elm.

The elm and I have become close friends over the past few days. Her lacy bark always seems delicate against my back, layers occasionally sloughing off to reveal the olive and orange patches beneath. If my mother — or the maid — has wondered at the dark stains of bark-dust that appears on the back of my shirts and sweaters at the end of each day, they do not ask. More important than the beautiful bark is the way the tree feels to my newly-awakened senses. Trees aren't really green, I find. They're shades of yellow and vermillion and they pulse with slow, inexorable life. The elm is my favorite of the trees I've sampled in the park. When I sit beneath her leafy crown, back pressed firm against the latticework of her bark, it's as though I'm caught up in a great golden embrace, shot through with flame-colored glints. It's comfortable, since the aura of the tree tends to block out the darting confusion of the playing children that bombards me when I stray too far from the shelter of the trees.

In the shadow of my lace-barked elm, I've been thinking about my new-found awareness. The fear that I had originally felt that afternoon when Sakura so deliberately seduced me has worn down to a vaguely nagging worry. So far this mystical sense of mine hasn't caused me any trouble. It's often confusing and occasionally disturbing, but it isn't dangerous or terrifying. In fact, if my inborn empathic sense hadn't been sharp enough to begin with, my ability to sense the auras of people I encounter has given me a preternatural accuracy when predicting emotions.

Of course, with some people, the sensations are much more powerful. I've found that when dealing with people I already have some sort of attachment too, such as my mother, my empathic responses can be nearly overwhelming. I've excused myself from dinner early for the past two nights because my mother's aura grew too strong for me to deal with. When that happened, when my mother's _self_ became so overpowering, it was as though a part of me was ready to reach out to her and join her to myself, just to keep the sense of separateness and loneliness at bay.

I've always known I was an introvert, a loner. I have never found someone to be my equal, to be my peer. And now, with this new sense of mine, I fear I'll never be able to even relate to anyone outside of myself. Even Sakura, the few times I've seen her since our return from the mountains, has seemed so desperately _apart_ from myself.

It hurts sometimes.

So I hide in the park with the elm and try not to listen to the sounds of children playing.

  


____________________________

  


I finally find Touya on the afternoon of my last day off of work. Or rather, he shows up at the park in search of me.

I _feel_ him before I see him. Even the dampening effect of the tree isn't enough to block him from me. Like his little sister, Touya has an aura that is so brilliant it's almost overpowering. I find I can't bear to look at him straight on. So I concentrate on _not_ focusing on him; I simply watch him with earthly eyes as he strides across the slightly muddy soccer field, his eyes never still as he searches for something or someone among the shadows of the trees. It becomes obvious who he's looking for once he spots me, waves, then changes course to bear down on mypatch of leafy shade.

"Daidouji," he says by way of introduction.

"You came looking for me?" I manage to get out through a clenched jaw. His presence is doing strange things to my mind. Now that he's here, the press of his aura is distracting beyond anything I've encountered so far.

"Yeah, Sakura mentioned something about . . ." He pauses to look at me again, his eyes sharp. His eyes seem a darker brown than I remember. After a moment of scrutiny, they suddenly widen, then relax. "She was right," he says, almost wonderingly.

I swallow and try to keep from reaching out with my mind to touch his. It's very, very difficult. Finally I need to close my eyes against the light. I need no distractions in this battle to keep from hurting Sakura's brother.

"Are you alright?" I dimly hear Touya ask.__

I don't reply. I'm busy.

So of course I don't realize that he's kneeling down next to me, reaching out with his hands and the supernatural powers that he's been slowly regaining over the past four years. This knowledge comes to me in a sudden flash as my eyes crack open, meet his.

My mind shatters.

  


____________________________

  


I am later told that the backlash nearly knocked Touya unconscious, but I was beyond noticing at the time. Instead of running, he struck out with his own mind, neatly contained mine behind time-worn mental walls, and then caught me as I toppled sideways toward the dusty, bark-strewn ground.

Whatever the chain of events that bring me here, I find myself waking up in Touya's bed, a huge, oak-posted monstrosity that even my mother would find a bit ostentatious. They must have had to dismantle the thing to get it through the doorway. Vague memories of Sakura, chattering about the great bargain on a kitschy bed her brother found at a second-hand furniture store, filter through my mind. It's sluggish, as though my mental processes are being forced to slog through a swampy mire. I push harder.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," Touya remarks from his seat by the window. Perhaps it's proof of my confusion that I don't notice him until he speaks. "You'll just give me a headache."

And I suddenly realize that for the first time in days I am able to look at a person straight on without having to keep my mind pushed back behind layers of pure will. It's all the more miraculous because it's _Touya_ and his mind is still gyrating like a small, local pulsar, shining with unseen light, but I don't feel drawn to him, drawn to clasp his mind to mine and join his brightness to my shadows.

"What did you _do_ to me?" I blurt out wildly, astonished beyond manners by this sudden, blessed _distance_ between my mind and his.

"Yue helped," he notes as he rises and moves over to the bedside. "I'm afraid I was out of practice when it came to installing shields in someone other than myself." He lays a warm, dry hand against my forehead then flinches minutely back in response. Despite my newly dulled senses, the contact is accompanied by a jolt, like the arc of an electric spark.

It must be clear from my expression that I have no idea what's going on. I'm confused and frightened and neither emotion is something I'm comfortable with under any circumstances.

"Stay here, Daidouji," Touya says gently. "I'll go see what's taking Yuki so long in there. I told him to make tea and bring out the chocolate but I think I'm smelling mulled cider instead . . ." He unbends from his half-crouch at my side and moves quietly out of the room.

There are noises from the kitchen, which is several rooms removed from the bedroom. I hear the sound of hushed voices and the clatter of what's probably a kettle, or maybe a small saucepan. There is more quiet, unintelligible conversation and I get the impression that I really _should_ be able to understand what their saying, but something — probably the same _something _that's dulling my senses — is slurring their words into a sort of soothing background noise. There's a kind of gentle _presence_ to Touya and Yukito's apartment; I find that I feel more comfortable here swathed in a borrowed blanked, cocooned in an enormous old bed, than I've felt at home since my return from the onsen.

Yukito appears suddenly, startling me into a tiny, hoarse yelp. He is so silent I had no idea he was even nearby.

"I brought you a snack," he says by way of apology, looking a bit sheepish for having scared me, or maybe for stepping so lightly and quietly through the apartment. He is carrying an old-fashioned tray, the kind that is designed to be propped up in front of someone as they watch television or something like that. He lowers the little legs, props the tray up across my lap, and looks terribly pleased with himself.

"It turns out that the cinnamon and cloves I smelled were in the tea, not cider," Touya announces as he returns and settles once again near the window. Two of the panes are louvered open to allow the warm breeze to enter, carrying with it the scents of new-mown grass and oak pollen.

Yukito pulls up a chair and sits next to the bed, fussing with the tray. "I didn't put anything in the tea, but there's milk or cream or sugar if you want it."

"It advise against them," Touya breaks in with a warning. "They won't help."

"The tea's a special blend," Yukito continues, pouring me a cup. The smooth stream of richly amber-tinted tea passes through the strainer and then into a heavy ceramic tea cup, probably hand-made by someone. I can smell the tea enough to know that it's suited for neither cream nor sugar. It has a spicy scent somehow reminiscent of both apple pies and Shinto shrines. I sip experimentally, and am pleasantly surprised.

"Thank you," I murmur, hanging onto control through my manners. "It's very good."

"You don't have to flatter him," Touya says with a brief smile. "It's a concoction that Yuki and Yue came up with together to help treat psychic backlash."

For a moment, I'm charmed by the concept of the Tsukishiro boy and Sakura's moon-pale guardian somehow conversing and experimenting with herbs and teas. They still share the same body, so the process must have been an entertaining experiment in psychology.

Then I finish processing what Touya said.

"Psychic . . . backlash?"

Touya shrugs. "That's the best way to describe it. Now that my powers are back, I've been dealing with that sort of thing on a fairly regular basis. I can predict almost precisely the way you're feeling right now." He shares a quick, cryptic smile with Yukito. "First of all, your head hurts. The muscles in your face and neck ache with tension. You're having a hard time focusing your eyes and your other senses seem a bit dulled. And right about _now_ you're realizing that the craving that's been waiting patiently for you to notice it is suddenly rearing its head and you desperately want that chocolate that Yuki's so kindly unwrapping for you."

And indeed, I've never seen chocolate that looks as good as the bar that Yukito's opening and breaking into bite-sized chunks. I've never been addicted to chocolate in the way that Sakura is. And Syaoran too, for that matter. But this . . . well, it's only cheap convenience store chocolate, but it's all I need. I immediately pop a piece into my mouth. Then a second one for the other cheek.

I give Touya a faintly disapproving look at having pinned me so neatly, but I continue to eat chocolate and sip the spicy tea.

"At least she's chewing it before swallowing, To-ya," Yukito notes generously. "I'm always afraid you're going to choke on a piece when you get like this."

"Oh, be quiet, Yuki," Touya murmurs, looking a little embarrassed.

I have so many questions, but it appears they'll have to wait until I've fed the starving beast inside of me. The chocolate seems to be filling an energy reserve I never knew I even had, never mind had suddenly emptied.

Once my sudden appetite begins to slow and I've begun to nibble — not gobble — the remaining chocolate, Yukito gives me a surprisingly shy smile. "I can help with the stiff neck, if you like," he suggests, making a strange little gesture with his hands that seems to mean he's either going to wring the neck of a chicken or give me a massage.

"He's really very good," Touya adds. "Those hands of his have gotten plenty of practice over the years."

"That would be very kind of you, Tsukishiro-san," I reply, before my brain really catches up with the suggestion. And for once, I'm glad I go with my instincts.

He rises from his chair and moves pillows so that he can sit behind me and work on my aching neck. Yukito is, indeed, very good with his hands. His long fingers are much stronger than they look, and despite how good the massage feels, I wince every once and a while. I believe I'll probably end up bruised, no matter how gentle he is.

"While Yuki's working on you, maybe we can work on figuring out what's going on with you," Touya says, drawing my attention back away from the warmth radiating through me, slowly outward from Yukito's hands. "I suppose the most important question is why you had a sudden flare up of dormant psychic powers."

"I'm not psychic," I say automatically. I've always been the mundane one, grateful to bask in Sakura's reflected glow.

"Actually, you are," Touya insists. "It runs in the family. Your mother even has a touch of the Sight, though it's been dormant since she was a little girl." He pauses and looks a little embarrassed. "Or at least, that's what Mother used to tell me. The Amamiyas always tended towards the otherworldly."

I'm still caught up in the concept that my mother, my very own, practical, business-minded, no-nonsense mother is psychic. It's almost laughable.

"And of course, I inherited my own brand of powers from Mother," he continues. "Sakura got a smidgen of the Sight, but not enough to be of much use. Instead she inherited the Clow."

"So that's why she's always been so terrified of ghosts," I murmur around the warm pleasure of Yukito's hands.

"Pardon?" I think I've lost Touya.

"Do you remember Yanagisawa Naoko? She was in our class?" Touya shrugs vaguely and I continue. "Well, when we were in elementary school, she had this strange obsession with ghost stories and eery tales. And whenever she told them, Sakura would always swear that the ghosts followed her for several days after she heard one of the stories. I used to laugh it off, but it makes sense now."

"You know, Daidouji?" Touya looks slightly amused. "I think you're probably right." He settles back in his chair with a thoughtful look on his face. "She has enough of the Sight to sense spirits, but not enough to see what they are. I imagine that's a bit unnerving."

"You're trying to avoid the subject, Daidouji-san," Yukito says suddenly, his hands stilling, then gently stroking my hair. He leans around to give me a shrewd look. "You need to understand what's happening to you."

For a brief instant, Yukito sounds like Yue and I wonder suddenly how separate the two really are.

"Yuki's right, I think," Touya replies quietly. "What matters here is figuring out how to help you adjust, not the ghost stories that used to scare my sister."

"It's been getting worse every day, now," I say, knowing they will understand.

"When did you begin to see and feel strange things?" Touya asks. "Generally it takes a fairly important event to jumpstart powers as dormant and sealed as yours were."

"At the onsen," I say. "I guess it was about a week and a half ago."

The two men are quiet for a moment, waiting for me to elaborate on the circumstances, but I remain silent as well. Too polite to pry, and kept in the dark by Sakura's apparently terse explanation, Touya and Yukito seem content to leave me my privacy. With any luck at all, Touya won't ever find out about Sakura's seduction and won't condemn me to a life of intense glares and general pariah-status.

I'm grateful for small miracles, at least.

So I let them explain their world for me. It's a place I never thought seriously about. As the mundane one among my close friends, even my family it seems, I've never considered the problems involved with Power. But Touya and Yukito have lived like this their entire lives. It's comforting to have two grown men caring for me and explaining this strange world. And they're gentle with me, gentler than I could ever have expected. Touya's patient with his endless exposition and Yukito's neck massage has ceased in favor of softly smoothing down my long, rumpled hair. Their kindness hovers somewhere between welcome and stifling.

"I don't think I can do this," I finally say, head full of 'power signatures' and 'psychic shielding' and 'mystic resonance.' "It's too big. Too sudden."

Yukito is suddenly on his feet. And then he's not Yukito anymore.

"You can always permanently seal her power," Yue notes to Touya in that low, cool voice of his. He has forgone the wings in favor of keeping the furniture in order and not buffeted about. But he's still an impressive-looking creature, particularly since he's aglow with a sort of milky luminescence that was present even when he was in his false-form. "It worked on that little boy last year."

"I could try . . ." Touya muses, his face thoughtful, a frown creasing the space between his dark eyes. "Of course, it's probably riskier. That boy was very young, and not nearly as strong as Daidouji."

I'm following the conversation, but only barely. "You could . . . make the power go away again? I could be the way I was?" The brief thrill I had initially received from the realization of my new senses had quickly worn down to a sort of continuous, low-grade panic. Being special wasn't quite what I wanted. Not like this, at least.

The blinds rattle with a sudden increase in wind. They are ignored.

"In a way," Touya replies eventually, evasively.

"Could you try it?" I ask, suddenly eager to be rid of this gift.

"I suppose," he says.

"Are you sure you want to?" Yue asks, fixing me with his silvery gaze. "You wish to return to your mundane existence, as though nothing happened? You could have Power," he says, almost coaxingly. "You already have an instinctive grasp of how your gift works."

Looking back upon recent interactions with people, I know he's right. But I still want it gone.

I nod firmly. "Yes, I would rather be mundane and comfortable. I can barely hear myself think, these days. Particularly when I'm around people." I smile gingerly at Touya. "I'd like to try, at least."

Touya nods back, a look of sympathy and understanding on his face. "Alright," he tells me. He glances at Yue. "I don't suppose I could borrow some of your Power for this? I suspect she's strong enough to warrant it, so any walls I build will have to be that much thicker."

Yue's shrug is so slight it's almost undetectable. "If you think you need it," he replies.

Touya stands and comes over to the side of the bed. I automatically make room for him. "You're going to try to do it now?" I ask curiously.

Touya gives an vague sort of nod. "Might as well. You're here and awake, as is Yue."

Yue comes and settles on the bed as well. "And as this will likely take a while, it's best to start earlier in the day." He reaches out and lays a cool hand across my forehead and I feel a feathery touch against my mind, warmer than I'd expected. Less indifferent, more caring. I relax minutely.

"Close your eyes and try to relax your mind," Touya orders quietly. He take hold of my left hand, thumb pressed against the hollow of my palm. "You'll be able to feel what I'm doing, but don't struggle or try to help me. I'm having to build a wall between you and the powers and it'll feel very strange, I think." He nods to Yue and takes his hand as well. "Take her other hand, will you? It'll make it easier for me to draw from you."

Yue's hands are cool and dry and slim; Touya's are much larger and very warm. As soon as the three of us are linked by clasped hands, I close my eyes and wait for Touya to do his work. The gentle probe of his mind soon creeps up against my own. I let him in. And Yue.

There's a click that seems as though it should be audible, a feeling of _fitting_ together somehow. Then Yue and Touya are somehow drawn deeper into me. I can feel it happening, but I have no control over it. I dimly realize that this is what my traitorous mind has been trying to do to various loved ones for the past week or so.

But it doesn't matter. I can feel Touya's frantic struggles at being locked in with me. Yue's attempts are more calculated, but no less emphatic. I try relaxing, hoping this will allow them to pull away from me. I don't much like the way I'm beginning to sense not only their emotions, but their thoughts, jumbled and worried as they are.

_I'm caught!_ I hear dimly. I'm not sure who says it.

_How can she be this strong? She's so new to this all and the power's raw and I'm stuck and I'm not sure how to get out and wait something's happening . . ._

The mental relaxation has some sort of effect.

Perhaps it's not what I was expecting. And it certainly surprises Touya and Yukito. Their startled reactions are like a beacon and I reach out, perhaps to help them pull back from the depths of my mind.

When contact is made, however, everything changes.

There isn't a flash of light. Or glittering showers of sparks. Only a sense of _belonging_, greater than anything I've ever felt in my life. It's a sort of intimacy that is completely unexpected, and all the sweeter for it. The union of minds is warmer than any sort of physical embrace, more sensual than even that brief afternoon with Sakura. It's a timeless moment, suspended together by the heat of our bodies and minds and somehow, _somehow_, I can feel Yukito and Touya's love and affection for each other and I'm _included_.

I'm nearly overwhelmed.

We're nearly overwhelmed.

Finally, Touya's voice seems to come from a long way away. "Tomoyo?" He also sounds very, very young.

"She's okay," Yue replies, his voice dusty, as though unused for many years. "A little shocky, perhaps."

"_She's_ shocky?!" Touya's words tremble on the edge of hysteria.

"Hush," says Yue and I realize that his words are making my belly vibrate, as his face is pressed against my abdomen, mouth a very warm spot just above my navel.

Touya has somehow curled his body around mine from behind and has one hand entwined with Yue's and the other wrapped in a hank of my hair. I have no idea how we ended up in this position, but it's so comfortable, I'm disinclined to move.

I'm not sure I could move anyway. The warmth has led to a sort of languor and my muscles are refusing to respond. Even my thoughts wander.

"Can you move?" Yue asks. I'm not sure who he's speaking to at the moment.

Touya answers. "Nope." He doesn't sound particularly bothered by the fact, which relieves me. I have the feeling I should be disturbed by the fact that I'm curled up in bed with Touya and Yue in such an intimate fashion, but it seems natural. "You?" Touya asks in reply.

I feel Yue take another breath against my stomach. "Not really. Do you think Daidouji's okay?"

Touya's hand twitches gently in my hair. "She's awake too. I can feel her."

There's a pause, then I can feel Yue's head shift slightly against me. "Actually, so can I."

And _I_ can feel their puzzlement, gentle and unconcerned, as inclusive as the mental embrace.

Touya sighs and his fingers brush through the dark length of my hair. "Any idea what the hell happened, Yue?"

"Not a clue, Touya." Yue's grip on Touya's hand tightens minutely and they both somehow tuck themselves closer to my body in an almost protective way. I fall asleep once more.

  


____________________________

  
__

Am I headed for the same brick wall   
Is there anything I can do about   
Anything at all?   
Except go back to that corner in Manhattan   
And dig deeper, dig deeper this time   
Down beneath the impossible pain of our history   
Beneath unknown bones   
Beneath the bedrock of the mystery   
Beneath the sewage systems and the path train   
Beneath the cobblestones and the water mains   
Beneath the traffic of friendships and street deals   
Beneath the screeching of kamikaze cab wheels   
Beneath everything I can think of to think about   
Beneath it all, beneath all get out   
Beneath the good and the kind and the stupid and the cruel   
There's a fire just waiting for fuel   


____________________________


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